Return to Grace
by Exile1
Summary: Seifer returns, but possessed of a power and determination to rival that of his mistress, Ultimecia. But when SeeD is sent to bring him down, the operation goes terribly wrong. CH5: Seifer succeeds in kidnapping Rinoa, but runs into a little obstacle
1. Lives in the balance

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy Eight, and the characters, names, places, situations and so on, are property of Squaresoft corporation. I own none of them and am making no money off of them. This story was written purely for my own enjoyment.  
  
  
  
Zell Dincht had the most fascinating knuckles.  
  
He shouldn't have been surprised at that, come to think of it. He used them every day, in training, in combat with whomever SeeD decided to send him up against, even in his admittedly ridiculous habit of shadowboxing. He stared at them intently now. He knew what was coming, but he dared not shift his gaze from the back of his hands as they rested clasped together in his lap to the man whose piercing gaze threatened to burn a hole straight through his head and out the other side.  
  
There was a spot of blood on them, where the stud on his index knuckle met the black leather fabric of his gauntlet.  
  
"Zell."  
  
The voice made his heart shrink, but the blood made the remnants of the panic that had gripped him earlier threaten to take control. He'd tried to wash it off…tried so desperately…but just that one piece had dried and stuck there. He'd scrubbed at it so hard…Hyne, how he'd scrubbed! But still a spot remained to remind him of his failure…  
  
"Zell, look at me."  
  
He'd scrubbed…  
  
"Look at me."  
  
At last he forced himself to painstakingly raise his head and meet the eyes of his interrogator. The eyes he'd felt since he entered the room, head bowed, hadn't waned in ferocity, but the face surrounding them was cold and waxen. And they were rimmed with black and slightly reddened. Panic and sorrow had blazed there once, but now there remained only chill fury, barely checked.  
  
The two remained there, both motionless, Zell wide-eyed and mouthing possible explanations, his opposite totally expressionless. After a brief eternity, though, that tight-lipped countenance relaxed a meagre fraction, only enough to allow human speech, and began, in a voice of death.  
  
"So…tell me, Zell. Tell me, adding in as much detail as you can, exactly how something so simple…so well planned…so…so hyne-damned simple…could have gone so horribly, horribly wrong?"  
  
That crimson spot flared brightly in his mind's eye as he shifted position rubbing that accursedly stained hand along the fine blonde hairs on the back of his neck as he bowed his head again and closed his eyes.  
  
"I…we…our SeeD Hovercraft got to FH alright…with time to…spare…then the mission started…"  
  
  
  
Dobe, Lord mayor of Fisherman's Horizon, glared in fury at the quartet of SeeD Agents gathered before him, just recently disembarked on the rusted shores of his town of salvage and scrap. Before him, Quistis Trepe, SeeD instructor and field co-ordinator placed a hand on her hip in a gesture of irritation as the mayor continued his tirade against what he saw as an invasion by a hostile force.  
  
"For the last time, mercenaries," he began, actually for the umpteenth. "We don't want you here. You're a menace and a mindless killing force, and you threaten everything we stand for. You weren't invited and I want you to leave NOW"  
  
Quistis' face always shone on those rare occasions when she smiled, or so Zell tended to think to himself, privately. This didn't happen to be one of those occasions, and the sternness of the gaze with which she regarded the little mayor was grim indeed. Beside Zell, Irvine muttered something about his absolute enjoyment of watching sparks fly from her eyes before stifling a wince as Selphie scowled and kicked him firmly in the shins, reminiscent of one of the three terrorists whom they had come to stop.  
  
"Mister Mayor," Quistis replied calmly, the strain in keeping her tone reasonable showing in the tautness of her back. "I know we were not invited, and I am aware of your philosophy of non-violence. But with all due respect"—she gestured toward the mayor's two storey, albeit modest, house nestled squarely in the centre of the gargantuan solar dish from which Fisherman's Horizon drew its power—"It hasn't seemed to work. I know these people, and I can tell you that in their leader's present state, there is no way they're going to listen."  
  
"We can handle this without violence, Ms. Trepe," the mayor retorted hotly, but he was prevented from blasting the agents once again by a fierce hand gesture from Quistis, a sort of sawing motion, before she placed it, quite visibly, back on the handle of the whip mounted at her side.  
  
"Well, yeah, I guess you can," she replied acidly. "Letting them blow up that little house of yours…along with the dish, your only source of power, is a way of handling things, I guess." She tossed the two strands of hair that hung down over her face, escapees from the tight clasp she insisted on maintaining. "But that would keep you in the dark for weeks whilst being repaired. Not to mention the damage to the fishing industry. Hard to get the tastiest catches to Galbadia or even Balamb without enough power to run your refrigeration units, isn't it?"  
  
The mayor glared at her in silence, then growled, "We'll manage. We always have. We won't pay to have murderers like you in our town!"  
  
"You won't have to," Quistis replied smoothly. Behind her, Irvine raised a curious eyebrow, and a murmured comment about not being paid for their endeavours earned him another affectionate, albeit quite painful, kick from Selphie. "Consider this a repayment for the time you allowed us, a group if 'vicious killers' to dock and rest up while our garden was repaired."  
  
She turned her gaze to the vast solar dish, her eyes narrowing. "And…the terrorists are our business. It's our obligation to bring them back to Garden for judgement." She turned back to the glowering mayor. "Now, please…let us do our job."  
  
The mayor's furious glared remained in place for a while longer as he engaged in a silent battle of wills with the four intruders. Then he spat over the side of the railing separating them from the dish and growled, "If any one of my people is hurt by your actions, none of you will ever again be welcomed anywhere near FH for as long as it stands."  
  
He turned tail and stalked off before Quistis could offer her party's thanks. Sighing, she turned irritably and gave a rueful smile to her three companions.  
  
"Well…I guess it'd be a bad idea to stop here for repairs anytime in the future, huh?"  
  
  
  
"Hmm. Typical of her, I suppose. Always has the greater good in sight, even if the person she's dealing with is an asshole. I guess I should know."  
  
In his misery, Zell was quite conscious of his grim companion's use of tenses. He forced himself to keep meeting his gaze, avoiding the spot on his hand and trying to hold himself accountable for the events on FH. An impartial observer probably would have told him that it was hardly his fault, but after what had happened the previous day, neither he nor the other two would have believed that they were not the ones to blame. Not at all.  
  
"Well then. Cid would call that an 'auspicious start'. Carry on, Zell. And remember…don't leave anything out."  
  
Zell shifted again ,averting his eyes to the side. He was caught between two fires, the flames in his interrogator's eyes and the pain of yesterday's events, staring up at him from that miniscule spot on his knuckle. The request hadn't been a threat, but he would wrack his brain nonetheless. He owed both of them that much.  
  
  
  
The four had approached the mayor's house with caution. The sun's heat had subsided, now in the late afternoon, but the air still shimmered over the hundreds of thousands of tiles that comprised FH's tremendous solar energy complex, the largest in the world. Even on the long bridge leading from the outer streets to the Mayor's residence, the four could feel the heat of the day, and appreciated exactly why the mayor spent his days in a loose shirt, shorts and sandals. Hardly respectably attire for a man of his standing, but necessary considering he had to endure these temperatures day in and day out.  
  
"Yo, Quistis," Zell whispered. "D'ya know if they've got any hostages?"  
  
"Good thinking, Zell. Nice to know that thoughts of your next meal aren't the only thing to cross your mind," she answered affectionately, but still in a professional whisper. "But no…as far as I know, there aren't any. Apart from the whole town. We have no way of knowing how powerful that bomb is, or even if they have one."  
  
Slightly behind them, Irvine narrowed his eyes and pulled the brim of his Stetson down to shield them from the rays of the afternoon sun. "Seems quiet," he growled. "No sign of any raving lunatics, if you know who I mean. Maybe they just caused enough of a ruckus to get us to come runnin' and look like fools?"  
  
As if Murphy himself was listening in, a faint rumble was heard from beneath them. "Move it!" Quistis bellowed, racing across with Selphie in tow as the rumble turned into a roar and the entire structure lurched. Before Either Zell or Irvine could move a muscle, the section of the bridge once host to Quistis and Selphie erupted upward as a Firaga turned the ten metre section of the bridge into a blistering hail of molten metal and scrap. As the debris rained down, the flames between the two parties leapt up, spewing out a snarling Raijin.  
  
For his briefest moment of inactivity, Irvine earned a boot in the face, sending him spinning away, stunned. Zell, quicker on the uptake for once, swung with a heavy fist, eyes watering from the heat of the blast. He felt something connect, and a heavy grunt, and grinned in brief satisfaction. Again he struck, before Raijin could recover, and again, but although his opponent's torso must have been a mass of bruises, Raijin found the strength to lunge forward, pummelling Zell with his sheer mass. Struggling, Zell could do little to stop the blind rush and so was helplessly slammed into the railings and tipped over them.  
  
Acting on instinct rather than letting his normally cluttered mind do the work, he ceased resisting Raijin's rush. Gripping the collar of his sleeveless shirt with both hands, he simply let himself fall.  
  
"What the fu…!" was all the larger man could utter as he found himself tumbling over the railings, defeated by his own momentum, and plummeting the short distance to the mirrors of the solar dish below. He lashed out blindly at his wiry adversary, but the two were in Zell's domain as the smaller man simply twisted himself in mid-air and allowed Raijin to land with a sharp crack of protesting backbone and shattered mirrors onto the surface of the dish, protecting Zell from the brunt of the shock.  
  
Zell rolled tiredly off of his adversary, winded and hurting. But still Raijin wouldn't remain down. Rising to his feet with a terrible, ominous groan, he produced his thick staff from apparently nowhere and towered over Zell's panting form. For his part, the Balamb native could do little but stare up at him.  
  
"Heh…heh…not…bad, little guy, ya…know?" Raijin coughed, a small trickle of blood running from the side of his mouth. He grinned revealing teeth stained with the same substance and raised his staff to pummel the SeeD into oblivion.  
  
Then he screeched in unexpected pain as two shotgun bullets tore through both of his hands in quick succession. Whimpering, he collapsed to his feet, both ruined hands pressed against his chest to staunch the flow of blood, as the pieces of his staff clattered away, sliced cleanly in three by the precisely marked bullets. Not one to let an advantage pass once presented to him, Zell found the strength to leap up, take that enormous head in both hands and intimately acquaint it with his kneecap. The sharp crack he earned, and the senseless sigh that followed, seemed a welcome vindication for the pain he'd suffered before.  
  
Taking a deep breath to recover the ones slammed out of him by Raijin's unusually ferocious assault, he looked up to the ruined bridge and gave a grateful thumbs-up to the figure leaning lazily on it. Irvine touched a finger to his hat and continued rubbing his jaw with a wince. Across the chasm that now separated the SeeDs, Selphie and Quistis got shakily to their feet, still slightly stunned.  
  
Quistis cupped her hands to her mouth. "Zell….you okay?"  
  
Still too winded to make reply, he raised a hand and nodded shakily.  
  
"Perfect." She tossed her perfect hair and jerked a thumb back at the house on their side of the bridge. "Selphie and I'll search Mayor Dobe's residence. You two stay on alert, and Scan the scaffolding under the house and around it. That's the logical place for a bomb…if it went off, it'd take the whole dish with it."  
  
Irvine answered so that Zell would not have to. "Can do, sweetheart! Just watch yerself. Wouldn't want all my dreams to go up in smoke, now."  
  
A brief smile tugged at the corners of her thin lips, then she turned and raced to the house. Selphie's gaze lingered on him for just awhile longer, with an expression that Irvine couldn't quite fathom, before turning without a word or a smile to follow Quistis. Irvine scratched the back of his neck, puzzled, then shrugged in his characteristic manner. He concentrated for a moment. By the time the dazzling sparks of his magic had subsided around him, Zell had hauled himself back up onto their side of the bridge and the cowboy let out a long, low whistle.  
  
He clicked his teeth. An obscenely bright glow emanated from directly beneath the house, seen only by his inner eye. "Oh, shit."  
  
  
  
"So there was a bomb."  
  
Zell fidgeted with his hands, all the while avoiding actually looking down at them. He'd half-expected some bitingly sarcastic comment about how good Zell's fighting skills had been, calculated to make him agonise some more over whether he shouldn't perhaps have been even faster. But instead, that dreadful voice mulled over this expected revelation quite thoughtfully, as if it had forgotten the tragic events that had followed. No such luck; the voice hardened again after a moment's pause.  
  
"I thought there would be. He's not the type to bluff, as I guess you know. How did you get over the chasm? You told me you were on the wrong side."  
  
"I had an Float spell Junctioned…sir." He added the last part swiftly. There was no reaction from the other side of the desk. "Not too accurate, but it was enough to whisk us over there, across the divide. Then we kinda just crawled into the substructure until we got to it. The bomb, I mean."  
  
  
  
Irvine let out another characteristic whistle and a muttered oath. He gave the blinking face of the lethal ordnance a look that was equal parts hatred and admiration. "Ain't never seen one o' these. At least, not so well made…"  
  
"Uh…excuse me, cowboy," Zell retorted, crouched and doubled over to fit into a nook in the rusted girders and wires that made up the substructure of the raised platform dead-centre of the dish upon which Dobe had made his abode. Several metres below him, that same dish glared up at him with the reflected shine of the equatorial sun whilst above, the deck of Fisherman's Horizon sagged worriedly, its integrity shaken by the force that the Firaga spell had used to shred the bridge. "But are you gonna complement it on its looks as usual or have you got any ideas on stopping it from blowing us to shreds?"  
  
"Never really been the patient type, have you, Zell?" Irvine murmured as he struggled out of his coat and hung it on a handy girder. From one of its inner pockets, he extracted a small, flat case and gingerly stepped from girder to girder before balancing precariously on a thin, algae encrusted pipe directly in from of the face of the bomb.  
  
"Irvine I'm being serious. Can you defuse that thing or should we sound an evacuation alert?"  
  
Setting down the case atop the over-sized bomb, he opened it to reveal a neat row of screwdrivers, ranging from several inches long to a mere quarter-inch. "Wouldn't have enough time, buddy mine," he answered thoughtfully, surveying the face of the bomb's control panel and noting with implacable calm that he had little more than five minutes to perform his task. After a thoughtful pause, he chose a medium sized tool and went to work on the screws holding the panel shut. "Now shut up for a moment, hey? If it helps, think of me as a tightrope walker and you as a foghorn."  
  
NEXT: It all goes wrong 


	2. The fall

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy Seven, and the characters, names, places, situations and so on, are property of Squaresoft corporation. I own none of them and am making no money off of them. This story was written purely for my own enjoyment.  
  
A/N: Not entirely pleased with the ending to this chapter. R&R, let me know what you think of it!  
  
~-~-~-  
  
"Cid would call that 'highly commendable."  
  
Irvine Kinneas shifted position uneasily. His coat still bore the marks of the battle earlier that morning…a scorch here, a tear there. It was an expensive coat, and may even have been beyond repair. But whilst his sense of style dictated that he keep his coat firmly donned, his trademark black Stetson hat was in his lap, as were his hands. Both trembled slightly with tension and pent up shock.  
  
"Your skill with little tools, I mean. I suppose you don't spend as much time around weapons as you do without picking up a thing or two."  
  
Irvine nodded dumbly, but the mild praise meant little to him. It utterly failed to untangle the knot in his stomach, nor shake the feeling of dread—at himself, mostly—after having been too…damned…slow. Swallowing, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Could…could we just get on with this, please?"  
  
The silence from the other end of the desk couldn't be labelled as anything. All that Irvine sensed from the other man was death. Presently, there was a grunt and a dark nod, and Irvine continued, carefully keeping his voice neutral.  
  
  
  
The hinges on the door to the Mayor's residence were surprisingly well oiled, but they could hardly withstand the combined efforts of two highly trained SeeD mercenaries. Twin kicks from both women sent the door tumbling inward, followed soon after by said women. They leaped within, moving with speed and grace, taking up positions inside the modest sized living area. They were ready for anything the remaining two bogeys could deliver. Literally.  
  
"Look out!" yelped Selphie, swinging her nunchuks in a wide arc as Quistis, technically the field leader of the operation but by no means stupid, ducked. The weapon swung with a hiss over the top of her head, colliding with a thrown shuriken aimed at the spot her forehead might have occupied if not for Selphie's warning.  
  
The hollow clang of the two weapons colliding echoed throughout the small room from end to end. But the deadly projectile simply whizzed away, completed its trajectory and alighted with a purr in the outstretched hand of their adversary. She regarded the two newcomers with a haughty stare with one dead grey eye, its twin a memory beneath a simple black patch. She tossed her short silver hair and allowed her body to flow into a defensive stance to mirror her opponents.  
  
"Fujin," Quistis said plainly. "You don't have to follow him blindly. Give yourself up and I promise I'll make sure Squall and Cid will take that into account."  
  
The other woman said nothing, and Quistis knew there was no way she would consider the offer. Fujin normally said little, apart from a few fierce, one-word statements. This time the perky woman tossed her hair even more irritably and growled.  
  
"TORNADO."  
  
And at her command, the air in the room came alive, a furious force of nature sweeping the two SeeDs off their feet and slamming them against the wall of the quaint living room. Dozens of ashtrays, magazines, books and pieces d'art leapt into the air and flew about the room, whizzing just inches away from the Quistis' face. Selphie shrieked momentarily, but her lips narrowed in grim concentration as she saw Fujin, reeling momentarily from the effort of casting such a spell. Her arms, like her companion's, were pinned to the wall and useless, but SeeDs had more than one method of attack.  
  
A flurry of blue-green sparkles flared briefly around her slim body. Fujin, sensing at last what was coming, raised a hand to cast some countermeasure, or to cast reflect, but she was far too late. A bolt of lighting flared across the room, beyond the ability of the Tornado to deter it…one, two, three times it leaped from around Selphie and earthed itself in their silent antagonist.  
  
The two had expected her to shriek, or give some sign of pain. But as the winds died down, blowing themselves out of existence, the two noted with a chill sense of apprehension, that the woman simply crumpled up without a word, or even acknowledgement that she'd been all but electrocuted. A faint indication of the trial the two had yet to face?  
  
Allowing herself a momentary lapse, Quistis knelt down with a sigh, catching her breath. Selphie leaned against the wall, gasping, but her own respite was short lived, interrupted by a faint noise from upstairs. Hardly a shriek, more of a whimper, but enough to be heard nonetheless.  
  
"Hyne! The mayor said everyone'd been evacuated." The slim young woman turned tail and sprinted up the stairs, ignoring the feeble protests of her fellow.  
  
  
  
"You didn't rush immediately to give them a hand?" the voice of death continued on.  
  
Irvine shifted again, gazing at the hat in his lap, just as Zell had done with his gauntlets. No, he hadn't. He'd stayed down there, didn't even send Zell up back the girls up. Hell, he'd even told him to shut his mouth when he made as if to scramble back up into the sunlight and into the mayor's residence. He was ruining Irvine's concentration. The girls could handle themselves, he'd said. Quit worrying. They weren't babies, they'd faced worse than this, blah, blah, blah, all the time keeping his mind focussed squarely on tracing the wires running beneath the open face of the bomb. He knew they'd be alright…  
  
"I…look, I…" He pinched the bridge of his nose with one, trembling hand. Trembling with grief, not fear. He feared his questioner, but his sorrow at his own failure more than eclipsed that. "I thought they could handle it. He was…always so easy to take down before. I never dreamed that this would turn out like it did."  
  
"Really?"  
  
That black silence persisted for a moment longer.  
  
"Well…I guess I don't have to tell you that you were wrong…"  
  
And inside, deep inside, another piece of Irvine perished.  
  
  
  
"Dammit, Irvine! You gonna shut that thing down or what?"  
  
Slender fingers traced a scraggly wire to its origin, then discarded it. "In a minute, Zell."  
  
"Look, I'm not sure if you understand this, but THINGS HAVE GOTTEN REALLY FUBAR AROUND HERE!!! Or didn't you hear the hurricane?!?"  
  
A second trace, with fingers ever-steady. The new, green wire ran into the tangled mess to a place he hadn't ventured yet. "Be cool, Zell."  
  
"Easy for you to say! Damn, can't you hurry it up? Oh, hyne, you're not…?"  
  
Irvine snapped his fingers, and darted his hand into the device. There was a barely audible snap.  
  
"You are, aren't you? HYNE, IRVINE I'M NOT SOME HYNEDAMNED CHICK YOU HAVE TO IMPRESS! STOP FOOLIN' AROUND AND STOP THAT FU…"  
  
"It's done, Zell"  
  
"Wha…?"  
  
  
  
Selphie leapt with both feet onto the top level of the residence, already in a defensive stance. For a moment, only an empty, sunlit room greeted her for her trouble. Then a bloodied bundle shifted position in the corner of the room, and moaned softly.  
  
"Mrs. Dobe!"  
  
She abandoned her defense and leapt to the aid of the fallen woman. With a brief mutter, the bonds binding the woman froze solid, then shattered as Selphie tapped them with the end of her nunchuku. Freed, Flo Dobe rolled onto her back, head lolling listlessly. Bruises covered her motherly face, and a thin trickle of blood ran from her lips onto the scraggly carpet. Her eyes were swollen shut into slits, but two frightened eyes could be seen staring up at her rescuer.  
  
"It's alright, ma'am," Selphie whispered soothingly, concentrating on manifesting a Curaga spell. She paused when she saw that the broken woman's lips were quivering. "Please, Mrs. Dobe, It's safe, now."  
  
Those cracked lips quivered, and a faint voice filled with tentative panic issued forth from them. "B…be…behind…y…y…"  
  
But the sound of a gunblade's hiss, the clank of Selphie's nunchuku and her cry of alarm drowned out what she had to say. It was an unnecessary warning anyway, by that point.  
  
  
  
The snap of the lid of Irvine's toolbox shutting failed to drown out the cry from the levels above the two SeeDs. Zell, with his keen grasp of the world's various martial arts, only jerked up his head in alarm, keeping his balance perfectly.  
  
Irvine's heart froze, his eyes widened and the toolbox slid from his suddenly limp fingers. The clatter of tools striking pipes, tubing, metal plates and the like somehow seemed less than the rush of blood to his ears.  
  
"Selphie…"  
  
Then he turned, totally ignoring his companion and leapt up through the twisted substructure, scrambling for purchase even as Zell thundered after him.  
  
  
  
It was a battle, no doubt. But it was one-sided enough to equate to a mere skirmish. Everywhere she moved, a block, every spell she could gather the wits to cast, a Reflect, every time she swung her weapon, a clash of steel as it's chain met a purely forged Gunblade. Too furious an attack to resist, as she was backed into a corner, chewing her lip in an effort to keep from descending into panic.  
  
In the end, her own considerable skill was really not enough to win victory. Her adversary feinted a slice at her arm, and she brought her weapon in a sweeping arc downward to intercept it. Then there was a flash in midair, as the blade seemed to change direction without warning and come down with an agonising smack on the side of her neck.  
  
Selphie, energetic, bubbly, frail Selphie stifled a cry of alarm, as the flat of the charged blade stunned her. Then a dull thump, and the air was expelled from her body with a knee to the midriff. Then another strike, and the side of her face rung with a blow that reverberated along her entire jaw. And another, a heavy, merciless kick, sending her spinning away to land with a crack against the wall of the Dobes' upstairs room.  
  
There was an element of panic present in her as her trembling lips moved to cast a potent Thundaga. But really, it was professional resolve that kept her wits together, born of years of training. The attack had left her bruised and dazed, but her adversary had little chance of beating her into submission. Lightning crackled along her fingertips, the handles to her nunchuku and even along its chain, with enough power to reduce her assailant into a breeze of organic dust.  
  
Then the electricity dissipated. The Magic fled. Her useless weapon fell from limp fingertips as her limbs refused to acknowledge her will. She fell to her knees, and then collapsed onto her side. There was a vague feeling within her that there was something she really ought to be concentrating quite hard on, perhaps the chap in the grey coat arrogantly sauntering towards her, the last golden sparkles of a Confuse spell falling from his gloved fingers. But she couldn't quite make the connection between the image she saw and the course of action she should take.  
  
Then her body felt itself being lifted, coarsely, off of the floor and then being pinned against the wall, so that her face was level with an angry red scar, two frozen green eyes and a thin mouth, corners upturned into a smirk which seemed somewhat familiar.  
  
"So. The messenger girl."  
  
The voice was slick, confident…and disappointed. The lips moved, but the sounds that issued from them took an instant more to reach her ears.  
  
"I wanted her, you know. Or puberty boy. Or that irritating cowboy. Even Zell, the shadowboxing, hot-dog devouring, fashion-taste defying chicken- wuss. Wouldn't have come amiss. But you're the one to face me?"  
  
Seifer. Seifer something, she couldn't quite remember his other name. But she was making progress…a few moments previously, she hadn't been able to recognise his face at all, much less remember his name. He seemed different from what she'd expected, though. She couldn't quite recall how he'd been, or even if she'd met him before now, but there was a sense of unfamiliarity.  
  
"She could have filled the emptiness, given me closure. I'm just wandering in a void, now. Instead, I've got you. And I think I've shown you how pathetic you are by comparison."  
  
She felt indignant. That was good. It meant the numbness in her head was going away. She tried to speak, to protest at her treatment, but the tingling sensation of awakening hadn't yet spread to her lips, and her ability to speak was as surely neutralised as if she'd been on the receiving end if a Silence attack. Seifer…Seifer…Seifer…um…hell, what the hell was his last name?  
  
Seifer (if that was even his name) pursed his lips thoughtfully as he searched her blank face for signs of defiance. Then he wrinkled his nose and sneered, one corner of his mouth twisting cruelly upward. Madness and pain and pleasure flared out from his eyes. She felt nothing as he spoke, his voice sounding less distant now, and crueller. She'd expected it, somehow. She knew this man…damn it, what was his accursed surname?  
  
Then he raised his hand, clutching his Gunblade and holding it aloft, pure point stabbing at the ceiling as his eyes narrowed on her face with grim purpose.  
  
"Yes," he sneered, the words almost totally clear now. "That's what you are, messenger girl. Too. Bloody. Pathetic."  
  
Almasy. That was it, Seifer Almasy.  
  
No. Oh, no.  
  
  
  
She paused in her tale. That terrible voice from across the imposing desk facing her held itself silent, displaying a gentleness not shown to the other two. Perhaps he sensed that his companion was as close to the edge as was he. The only difference was that he was merely staring into that abyss. She was dancing in frenzy upon its edge.  
  
Finally he leaned forward and asked softly, so softly as to almost be the most hushed whisper; "Then what happened?"  
  
Across from him, Selphie Tilmitt, once a bubbling brook of life, now a haunted ghost, raised her face to him. The dried trails of a torrent of tears stained her cheeks, and her eyes were wide and red, peeking numbly out at him from the tops of her knees, curled up against her body as her legs were. She rocked back and forth occasionally, a tight ball of pain, crippled by an anguish that defied expression when all she knew how to show was joy.  
  
She regarded him with a pale, featureless expression for a brief instant whilst he patiently awaited her answer.  
  
"Th…then…" A gulp, a closing of those now dark eyes and a deep breath. Continue. "Sh…she… just rushed in…"  
  
  
  
A sharp crack, like a thunderbolt. A ragged gash appeared as if from nowhere on the arm of Seifer's coat. And blood, spurting briefly in an arc as if in pursuit of the razor chain which had drawn it from beneath both coat and skin, stained the material of his trenchcoat. Grey became darker, a burgundy shade of pain.  
  
Seifer yelped briefly. Selphie watched his eyes widen, with surprise more than anything else, before the fingers of his left arm spasmed and she tumbled to the floor once again. The tip of Seifer's Hyperion dug into the carpet beside her as he brought his injured arm down with a jerk and clutched the wound with a trembling left hand. For a moment, Selphie stared up at him as he bit back any expression of pain. Then his lips rearranged themselves into his characteristic smirk and he swept around to greet the newcomer.  
  
She remembered thinking how, even in pain, he still looked like a showman.  
  
"Instructor…" he said, coldly. Selphie gathered the strength to lift her head, even that small movement intensifying the headache gradually afflicting her as Seifer's Confuse spell slowly wore off. Even with her addled mind, she knew the newcomer was dealing with something quite different from the person they knew.  
  
Quistis Trepe, newly reinstated SeeD instructor, had neither smirk nor banter to offer. Instead, she flowed into a battle stance, her trademark Save the Queen at the ready, and stared unblinkingly at her adversary.  
  
"Save it, Seifer," she spat, tightening her grip on her weapon. "Your posse'll be nursing a major headache later on, Irvine and Zell are dealing with the surprise you left under the house and I'm in no mood for any of your shit. Not this time, Seifer. I'll ask you once, and once only; put down your Gunblade, step away from Selphie and Mrs. Dobe and turn and face the wall."  
  
"Only once? How considerate. Now that's how many times I have to answer you. You've really cut my work in half…instructor!"  
  
The last word was said in a roar as he jerked his blood-covered arm up, ablaze with a spiral conflagration. But the roar stopped when the air was rent with another sharp crack. His hand jerked, leaving a fiery trail, before it discharged its burst of flame out of the wall behind Quistis. Before the flames had even finished demolishing some more of the personal effects of Dobe and his wife, she'd completed her strike and her whip snaked around in another arc towards Seifer.  
  
This time, his Gunblade blocked her strike. Blood still flowed from the gash in his upper arm, but he didn't seem to notice as he swung it at her head in a desperate counterattack. But again, there was another crack, this time leaving a bloody trail on the back of Seifer's right hand.  
  
Furious, too caught up in his berserk rage to even notice, he brought the blade around again, and was again blocked. Again, his coat was shredded and reddened by the opening of another gash.  
  
When he clutched the barrel of his blade and raised it above his head, fully intending to split her in two, it cost Quistis nothing more beyond a simple flick of her strong wrist to bring her whip flashing across his chest, shredding his waistcoat and again drawing blood.  
  
And so it went. His furious frenzy matched every time by her chill, professional mask. The seconds stretched into a minute and with each passing instant, Selphie gathered enough strength to move another muscle. With each instant, the others would finish their task and rush to their aid. With each instant, Seifer's doom approached.  
  
But the seconds were like hours.  
  
And, for a long time after the events of the day had passed, Selphie would remember three of them in her nightmares.  
  
  
  
The din of the fireball bursting through the wall of the house above them was enough to hasten Irvine's pace. With a desperate command, the remaining metres of substructure between him and the platform upon which Dobe's house was built crystallised in a complex sculpture of ice.  
  
He unshouldered his rifle, opened the chamber, dug out two cartridges, marked red, and furiously pushed them into his Exeter.  
  
He was sort of aware that Zell was shouting something very important below him, but he heard nothing beyond the pounding of the blood in his ears as he settled against a pipe, cocked his rifle, aimed it at the remaining distance above him, now a mass of ice gleaming even in the darkness, and squeezed the trigger.  
  
Twin lances of fire arched directly upward, devouring the ice in its path and turning it into a cascade of water, steam and tumbling blocks of ice that hadn't been melted or flashed into steam.  
  
Not all of it was blown outward. But in his fury, he didn't even glance upward as some debris rained down, raising flurries of blue sparks as they struck the Protect shield hastily erected by Zell. He focussed only on reloading his rifle and, when he'd snapped it shut, primed and ready, he leapt upward again, scrambling from handhold to handhold, pursued by Zell.  
  
He was screaming something about calming down and being careful, but Irvine couldn't make it out, and couldn't be bothered to.  
  
  
  
Again, that chain flashed forward towards Quistis' adversary. It would meet a counterattack by Seifer, render it wholly useless by its sheer force, and then whip right back around to slash his arm, or hand, or chest. Sooner or later, the pain of so many wounds would tire her adversary enough for her to deal a crushing blow.  
  
At least…  
  
That's how it ought to have gone.  
  
One.  
  
When Quistis' whip sliced the air again, Selphie had almost garnered the strength and will to speak.  
  
When Seifer spun around and raised his arm…his LEFT arm…to intercept, she'd almost found the will to push herself up off of the floor on her hands and knees.  
  
By the time the whip's chain had struck his forearm, darkening his coat once again with blood, Selphie's head had long since cleared enough to realise that something was wrong. Especially when the chain wrapped itself tightly around his arm. Her trepidation grew, when bloody teeth showed through a taut smirk.  
  
Two.  
  
She opened her mouth, furiously willing her vocal cords to function. Before her, the battle dance froze, Seifer's grim smirk pitted against Quistis' fading mask.  
  
She was off balance.  
  
He was…  
  
He yanked his arm back, hauling Quistis forward, the death grip with which she always held the handle never relaxing, even now.  
  
She tumbled forward.  
  
Steel flashed as he thrust out his Gunblade.  
  
Three seconds.  
  
The last Selphie saw in those clear, always sad green eyes, before they closed, was an expression of sheer shock, as Quistis stared blankly into the narrowed eyes of her victor, the cruel length of his Gunblade impaling her like a spire.  
  
And all that she had to offer the oldest of her friends, as the last tendrils of the Confuse spell fled, was a scream of helpless anguish.  
  
  
  
Irvine heard the Selphie's cry long before he'd even finished scrambling onto the platform supporting the house. It had died down when he shot into the house, not even sparing a glance at Fujin's crumpled, defeated form. His rifle was at the ready and he concentrated on nothing beyond reaching Selphie and Quistis and beating thirteen kinds of hell out of whomever it was they were facing. Even Zell, usually the impulsive one, had given up trying to stop Irvine's mad rush and was instead rushing right behind him, ready to offer his fists as backup.  
  
Finally, in mere seconds, which had seemed for awhile like long hours, Irvine finally ran out of stairs and leapt into the Dobes' living room.  
  
Seifer was gone. That crisis had subsided, but a new one presented itself, stunning him into silence and banishing the adrenaline that had clouded his mind and whipped him into a fury. Selphie Tilmitt jerked her face up at him from the floor, where she cradled a figure all pale skin, rich blonde hair and bloodstained maroon clothing, hanging lifelessly in her arms.  
  
"Help," she whispered up at him, the shock on her face vastly surpassing his own. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please help her. I'm so sorry…"  
  
NEXT: Prayers and fury. 


	3. Fallout, Resolution

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 8 and all the characters therein are property of Squaresoft. I don't own 'em, although I do wish I owned Quistis. And Rinoa. And Selphie. But especially Quistis *Wistful grin*  
  
A/N: Anyway, we now return to "Return to Grace". This is a calmer chapter than the last two, mainly intended to develop some of the characters and advance the plot. Let me know how successful it is (Read: R&R!!!!!) And many MANY thanks for the great reviews!  
  
CHAPTER THREE  
  
"Hyne.what's taking so long?"  
  
That particular question, voiced for the fourteenth time with no discernible variation in word order by Zell as he paced back and forth in the spacious room outside of the office of their commander, echoed briefly back and forth They found no answer from Irvine, who sat on a nearby couch still clutching his Stetson and occasionally glancing anxiously at the door to the office.  
  
"Aaargh!" Zell growled, flailing at the air with his fists. "Why's he taking so long with her? We were only in there for fifteen minutes!"  
  
Still Irvine made no response. Exasperated, more at the suspense of the wait than due to the grilling he'd just undergone, he had no answer for Zell. He closed his eyes, briefly, and let out a heavy, shaky sigh. Then he jerked them open again, frightened by the memories brought forth from the darkness behind their lids. He and Zell had indeed been in the chamber for only a few minutes each. But they were the ones who'd been.too late. Selphie had been the one who'd seen the deed done.  
  
She'd been distraught. Distraught. The word couldn't even begin to describe how Selphie was when they had finally arrived at the scene. He'd had to physically pull her away from their fallen comrade, although she thrashed and screamed the entire time. In the end, he'd had to put her to sleep with a spell. It was the only way.  
  
And then, of course, there'd been the debriefing for her to look forward to when she awoke.  
  
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't get the image out of his head, eyes open or shut. When he'd quit the chamber, and that terrible, dead voice had bade Selphie enter, he expected her to falter. Or refuse to go. Or else ask him to go in with her. Him! He'd been a fool. Selphie'd simply risen to her feet and moved passed him to take his place in front of their commander. He'd even tried to whisper reassurances to her, but she'd shut the door behind her without acknowledging a single one of his utterances. As much a ghost as the man whose office she'd entered.  
  
He was afraid. Not that their interrogator would harm her. No. But there'd been something in her eyes when he'd made one of his usual flirtatious remarks to Quistis, before she and Selphie had run to the house where the fateful encounter had occurred. Something he couldn't quite get. Jealousy? Disappointment?  
  
Now he was afraid he would never understand. That the person that Selphie had been was irrevocably shattered, and the pieces reassembled into a new person, virtually identical to the first, but missing the spark he'd been.  
  
Been what? Attracted to? Fascinated and puzzled by?  
  
In love with?  
  
He frowned, and opened his eyes again. What did he want with her? From her? What?!  
  
The door to the office slid open. Irvine scrambled to his feet in the same instant that Zell jerked around, ending his pacing abruptly.  
  
Selphie glided past them without a word. So quick in fact, that he hadn't been able to catch her face. She simply strode forward without a word to either of them and moved toward the open elevator at the far end of the room.  
  
"Selphie!" he called out. But his greeting elicited no response from the girl, and any move he'd been about to make to go after her was abandoned as a new, quiet voice thundered behind him, its chill menace freezing him in its place.  
  
"Let her go." He turned around, slowly and with no small amount of dread, as did Zell.  
  
Squall Leonhart, commander of Balamb garden and, the man to whom its inhabitants looked up to, despite his flaws, stood at the threshold of the doorway to his office, arms clasped behind his back. The light filtering in from the large windows outlined his frame in a golden halo, like a demon framed in flames. The sun beyond the windows had long since passed its zenith and its late afternoon rays reflected just as brightly off of the ocean beyond and below the thick glass as from their source. So bright was the glare from the office, in fact, that the two men stood no chance of even seeing his face, let alone reading the expression on it.  
  
He regarded them in silence for awhile and they, him. But the dead silence was broken by the low chime of the lift as its doors slid shut. By the time Irvine and Zell had torn their gazes away from Squall, the car had already begun its descent to the first level of Garden and Squall coolly strode past them to touch a hand to the button that would summon it again. For the short eternity it took for the car to arrive, the commander kept his back to them, waves of emotional nothing radiating off of him. The other two men could only stare past him at the red gauge above the doors, counting the floors remaining before the car returned to ferry their commander away and free them from the terror of his wordless presence.  
  
  
  
The blurred walls of the elevator shaft were visible through glass of the lift doors as the car plummeted downward to Balamb Garden's "first floor". Squall Leonhart focussed squarely on them with narrowed eyes, this time allowing his expressionless face to contort itself into what could have passed for a thoughtful frown. But even in that brief moment alone in the lift, he maintained his sharp focus, never allowing his thoughts to wander, so that when the car finally reached its destination, his legs were already conveying him outside of the car and into the brightly lit first level before the doors had even finished hissing open.  
  
He paused at the threshold and swept his eyes over the main atrium of his Garden. His and Cid's anyway. Cid ran it, Squall commanded it. It was a generally informal relationship, and one into which he'd been unwillingly thrust months ago during a rare crisis. It wasn't everyday that entire Gardens went about trying to shoot each other out of the sky, and extraordinary situations such as those bred extraordinary men. He just hadn't been aware he was one himself.  
  
And right now, he certainly didn't feel particularly extraordinary.  
  
He made his way down the circular walkway which shaped the atrium into its characteristic hive-like form, hands clasped behind his back, the sound of his feet drowned out by the chatter of the numerous SeeD cadets leaving their classes or merely bumming around with little else to do. A fragment of a fragment of an emotion - Black fury at the giggling fools, totally ignorant of the tragedy that had turned the last two days into a hell - threatened to show its face, before being carefully jerked back beneath his usual bleak veneer. It was a simple thing to suppress. Hadn't he had years of practice, after all?  
  
Instead, he squared his shoulders once again - discretely.the students could NOT be made aware of how much Quistis' fall had effected him - And coolly stalked the rest of the way to the passageway leading into the sickbay. Only when he was alone in the deserted passageway did he allow himself enough human frailty to bow his head, close his eyes and take a deep breath before knocking. He did not wait for an answer from within before entering.  
  
The medical centre seemed warm and inviting, as always, the rays of the setting sun diffusing through the blinds half-drawn across the window and playing upon the opposite wall as the wind sent sporadic, gentle gusts through them. He'd come to in that place more than once, especially in the days when he and Seifer would face-off periodically over the unofficial title of master Gunblade-wielder. But now, as then, the sunlit atmosphere failed to calm him.  
  
Rising from her desk, Doctor Kadowaki shuffled briskly over to him. Her stern, matronly demeanour softened slightly when she saw who it was that had entered. She seemed to have been expecting some student who'd nicked his ear with his own knife, or something equally silly. Certainly, those were usually the sort of cases that found their way into her sickbay.  
  
"How is she?" he inquired softly, his voice sounding surprisingly hoarse.  
  
The doctor glanced behind her toward the compartment that held Squall's unwavering gaze and sighed. She seemed tired. "No change. We've stabilised her condition and dealt with the internal damage." She touched a hand to a spot slightly above her own abdomen. "The Hyperion pierced this spot, missing most vital organs, but still caused massive trauma and blood loss. Even with the Stop spell Zell used to keep her in stasis until she could be transported back here, her body suffered a tremendous shock."  
  
"You said you healed her," Squall said tersely, a new edge creeping into his tone. "You said she got here in time. Why hasn't she woken up?"  
  
"As I said, the trauma was-"  
  
"And spare me whatever complicated medical speech you have prepared. She's in a coma, she ain't waking up and I want to know why! You're supposed to be a doctor! Why can't you wake her?!?"  
  
Kadowaki's face contorted briefly, but when she opened her mouth to offer rebuke, Squall silenced her with an outstretched hand. He screwed his eyes shut for just a few seconds, arm still raised as if to ward off something only he could see, before visibly calming. The mask slid back into place as he said simply, woodenly; "No. I'm sorry. You're doing the best you can. I shouldn't have snapped at you. You're as tired as I am. I'm sorry."  
  
Shock replaced the outrage on the doctor's features. But this softened into her characteristic bleak, yet somehow warm smile when, after a brief silence, he said; "Can I see her now?"  
  
She waved him on, commenting in her mind that Squall was indeed as changed a man as she had heard. He nodded, smiled a smile wane and coloured with embarrassment and moved past her into the part of the sickbay reserved for long-term patients.  
  
Long-term patients. Hyne, no---  
  
He brushed aside the curtain surrounding Quistis' bed after a moment's hesitation at the thought of what he might find.  
  
Quistis Trepe seemed quite peaceful. Pretty. Beautiful. Her hair was loose and splayed on her pillow in a cascade of dull gold. Her lips were parted slightly, but they were blurred by the plastic of the oxygen mask whose steady hiss drowned out her shallow breaths. Her eyes were, of course, closed, but occasionally he could see them jerk spasmodically beneath their lids. That, and the steady rise and fall of her chest seemed to be the only movement about her. The only life. Always so pale, her face seemed even more waxen after her ordeal, although her medical tunic and the pristine sheet pulled up to her chest well hid the scar of her wound.  
  
His eyes moved away from her face to the woman slumped forward in the chair beside the bed, hand gently grasping Quistis own, head resting just on the bed, next to Quistis' body but with its forehead balancing just on the edge. Raven hair framed her face, brushed back behind her ear. Rinoa Heartilly. If he ever felt up to the task of describing her, he would have failed for certain to express exactly what she was. And what she meant to him. There was his existence before she came. And then there was his LIFE after she literally waltzed into his world and proceeded to turn it upside down. That was all he cared to say. All he was capable of saying. Language can only do so much.  
  
He knelt down, next to her, and reached out a gloved hand to brush her temple. Startled, she straightened with a jerk, he found himself looking into her face. Her hair was dishevelled. Her eyes were red - whether from sorrow or lack of sleep, he could not say - and her characteristic soft smile was absent from her lips.  
  
She was so beautiful.  
  
Wordlessly, she rose, and he with her, and took his hands in her own. They remained that way for awhile, neither saying anything to the other, not with words, anyway. Then they folded into each other's embrace, To some, it must have looked like an emotionally drained girl collapsing into the arms of her stoic lover. To others, it may have seemed that a tired, strung out young man sought comfort in the silent grace of his woman. It was, in fact, a bit of both.  
  
Finally, they broke the embrace, simultaneously, and turned to their fallen comrade, but the distance between them couldn't be measured, it was so infinitesimal.  
  
"I've been.gently probing her with my powers," Rinoa said, softly, as if afraid to wake Quistis at all. "Nothing. No response. I don't dare probe deeper. She's---too delicate for that, now."  
  
He smiled, wanly. "I think you need to give it a rest anyway." He gave her hand a squeeze, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder. "I just asked you to look in on her---not spend the whole day by her side."  
  
"I can't believe you said that," she said, accompanied by a forced giggle. "She's like a sister to me. And who else will? You were debriefing the others and running Garden. Zell and Irvine.I guess they think its somehow their fault. And Selphie---" She frowned. "Selphie---how is she?"  
  
He frowned as he gazed down at his childhood friend and listened to her breaths, listening hard for any irregularities, and said nothing. Sensing his sudden tenseness, Rinoa pulled away from him, took his hands again and looked up at his face as he deliberately looked away from her.  
  
"Squall---what did you say to them?" When he didn't answer, she shook her head and sighed worriedly. Worried for him. "Squall---it wasn't their fault, you know that."  
  
He hissed exasperatedly and tossed his head like an irritated stallion, baring his teeth in frustration. "I know. I know! I didn't yell at them or anything, but." He sighed and hung his head. "There must have been a way. They should have got to her quicker---they should have---aargh! They should have DONE something!"  
  
"They did, Squall," she answered softly. "She's here, isn't she? She's alive. She'll recover. Maybe there wasn't a way to prevent what happened, but they saved her life." No answer from the man who couldn't meet her gaze. She let go of his hands, cupped his face between them and all but forced his head up to look her. "Squall, they saved her life! Zell, Irvine, Selphie.without them she would have died. They're not to blame." She paused, as he looked at her, fighting back her shock at seeing what she thought might have been the beginnings of tears in his eyes. But it was just an illusion. Even now, after six months with her, he still didn't know how to weep. "HE is."  
  
"I.I." he started, before pulling away from her. Now it was his turn to kneel down beside his childhood friend, who hadn't stirred even through their exchange, and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I---I should have been ther-"  
  
"And neither are you. Do you understand me?" No answer from Squall, so she raised him gently to his feet and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him from behind. "Its not your fault either. Don't be angry at yourself. Or at the others. If you were there, it wouldn't have made a difference. Don't do this to yourself, or to them." She held him ever tighter, raising herself up on the tips of her toes so that she could rest her chin on his shoulder and whisper in his ear. "Or to me."  
  
When he didn't reply, she asked, tentatively, "Squall?"  
  
He shook her off, gently, touched Quistis' hand with his own, briefly, and turned to go. She didn't try to keep him back, but found herself asking, in a voice of dread at the change; "Squall? Where---?"  
  
He made is if to go, then paused in the act of leaving the compartment. When he turned to answer her, the façade was back, his eyes blazed with a passion that frightened her and his voice was flat and frank.  
  
"I'm going to kill him."  
  
Then he turned and made good his departure, leaving Rinoa to stare blankly after him before sitting back down, taking Quistis' hand once again and thoughtfully regarding her sleeping friend. And of the prayers she offered up to the gods, not quite all of them were for Quistis.  
  
  
  
"Selphie?"  
  
As before, there was no answer. He tried again, louder. "Selphie! It's Irvine! Open the door! Please."  
  
As before, he pressed his ear even closer to the cool wood of the door, straining for any sound from within. Still he heard nothing beyond his own breathing and desperate heartbeat. He glanced around him at the empty corridor, searching for someone who would help him, anyone. But he was alone. Alone at the door of someone who'd become a walking ghost and who refused to talk to neither him nor anyone else.  
  
"Selphie!" he cried, pounding the door again. Not too hard, though. He knew, on some unconscious level, how bloody irritating that sort of thing was, and that in her present state she was unlikely to open if he pounded too often.  
  
But---  
  
He pressed both hands on the door again and smacked his forehead against it, exasperated.  
  
"Selphie, please. It wasn't your fault. No one blames you. I don't," he pleaded, his words echoing down the empty corridor. Most of the students were in their classes, and the silence in the corridor matched the one within Selphie's room. "Neither does Squall, I'm sure, or Quisty." He tried to sound convincing. Sincere. Although he was bitterly aware of how seldom sincerity featured in his interactions with her.  
  
"Sefie?"  
  
Still no answer. He rested his back against the wall opposite her door and let himself slide the floor with a groan. He opened his moth to say something, but there was nothing he could say that he hadn't already said twice, with no answer from within. His exasperation and despair rested in his stomach like a stone. The exasperation stemmed from trying to get Selphie to see how little blame she shared. The despair came from.  
  
What?  
  
He was worried about her. Of course he was! But.it wasn't like before. Not like he was worried about Zell.he'd been just as effected by all of this. Or like he was worried about Quisty.he was wracked with guilt about what had happened, but not worried. The Stop spell that Zell had cast had kept her in stasis until doctor Kadowaki could treat her, after which her survival was assured.  
  
No, this was something different.  
  
Exasperated at Selphie, numb inside from the memory of his and Zell's failure and more than a little confused with what he was feeling, Irvine pulled his knees to his chest and rested his head on them with a sigh, ears still straining for any sound from within Selphie's quarters.  
  
  
  
"So you're saying that there was no sign of him?" Squall enquired, leaning forward across the conference table which had been set up in the Headmaster's office. "At all?"  
  
Across the medium sized table, Xu nodded from her place in front of the viewscreen. The image displayed thereon was a 3D model of Fisherman's Horizon. The mayor's house was highlighted in red, whilst all the docks and helipads pulsed green. "When the second team arrived, we sealed the place off immediately. Even in the time between our arrival and the medevac called by Irvine, the locals swore that no one got in or out."  
  
Squall's eyes narrowed. "How do we know they weren't lying?" he growled. "What assurances do we have?"  
  
Xu drew her lips back in a taut cross between a frown and a humourless smile. "None. Except that mayor Dobe did everything he could to help us out. Quistis and Selphie saved his wife's life and Zell and Irvine saved the rest of his town."  
  
Seated next to Squall, Cid Kramer, headmaster of Balamb Garden, chuckled and said: "I think he understands us a little better now, don't you think? Or at least realised that we weren't the enemy, for once."  
  
Squall made no reply to this. Instead, he looked to Xu once more and stated, plainly, "So there's no way he could have got off out of that town without your team knowing about it?"  
  
"That's it."  
  
"But he did it anyway."  
  
"Yessir. I'm afraid so."  
  
He swore, pushed his chair back, rose and stalked over to the window taking up most of the wall space to the right of the desk. He crossed his arms behind his back and peered out across the short patch of ocean that separated the sea borne garden from the sleepy town of Balamb. The sun had set, but its dying rays still peaked over the tips of the distant mountains, providing just enough illumination to make out the more prominent structures of the Balamb waterfront.  
  
He swore again, and turned. Still seated, the others awaited his input. But he could still see how apprehensive they were. Did they question his leadership?  
  
He grunted, and sat back down. "What about Raijin and Fujin? Have they given any indication of where he might be now? Where he could be headed?"  
  
Xu shook her head "No, Squall. But." She paused at the look of sudden interest in his face. "But.that's the thing. Neither of them remember a thing from yesterday." For this revelation, she was rewarded with a gold, albeit attentive stare. "Its like their minds are a blank. According to them, they're missing several days' worth of memories. We're still holding them, until Rinoa can probe them a little further to see if they're telling the truth. But until then, we can't rule out---"  
  
"---Mind control," Squall finished for her. The fury he'd held checked threatened to emerge. Mind control? Mind control?!?!  
  
Cid spoke up. "If they really were being controlled, we can also conceivably assume the same of Seifer, Squall."  
  
Mind control!!!  
  
No. No fucking way. After all his crimes against garden, all the deaths at his hands and now Quistis---Squall would be damned if he'd let Seifer use that as an excuse this time. Not again. Never again!  
  
He narrowed his eyes and forced his anger back down. When he looked up again and glanced at the assembled faces around him, some expectant, some apprehensive, he spoke in as calm and cool a tone as he could muster.  
  
"Well, then." He pressed the intercom button on his desk, his heart and mind swimming with newfound resolution. "Bridge, this is Commander Leonheart. Nida? You there?"  
  
"Here," came the tinny response. "Go ahead."  
  
"Nida, I want you to set us on a course to Centra. The orphanage."  
  
"Right on it. Standby. ETA should be about thirty-six hours, if the weather holds clear. Bridge out."  
  
No sooner had his voice signed off than Cid rose to his feet, in outrage. "Squall, for Hyne's sake," he began, angrily. "Its been months since Ultimecia! How can you suspect."  
  
"How 'bout you calm down?" Squall barked, rising to his feet and leaning forward across the table. His height, at a foot taller than Cid, seemed all the more prominent when combined with the sharpness of his voice, But Cid bristled nonetheless. "I'm not accusing anyone of anything. Except for that bastard Almasy."  
  
He turned, and looked out again over the darkening ocean. Across the distance, he could make out the lights of Balamb flicking on one by one, as the city made its own transition from day to night. His own office was still dark, the lights not yet activated, so when he turned again, the meagre light emanating from outside the horizon was insufficient to illuminate his expression. "But if anyone knows anything about mind control, and how to find Seifer, it'll be Edea."  
  
And as the titanic engines of Balamb Garden began their ominous whine, deep within the bowels of the mobile fortress-academy, he whispered, as if to remind himself of the fact: "Matron."  
  
NEXT: A meeting with Matron. 


	4. Reemergeance

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, wish I did. All characters but the two cadets in the last bit belong to Squaresoft, lucky swines that they are.  
  
In other news, I reread the last three chapters and came to the conclusion that there wasn't quite enough violence and cussing to warrant an R rating. That, and FF.net has this irritating habit of only displaying G - PG-13 stories as a default setting. And have they ever explained the rationale behind banning NC-17 stories altogether?  
  
  
  
CHAPTER FOUR  
  
Selphie opened her eyes.  
  
For a moment, she felt wild, irrational panic at the darkness. Just for a moment. Then her eyes focussed on the wall clock opposite her bed. Its luminous hands slowly made their way to eleven o' clock, whether a.m. or p.m., she could not say. She closed her eyes again and slumped back down onto the bed, breathing deeply and regularly, until her heart had reacquired its normal rhythm. She tried to remember what she'd been dreaming about, but nothing came. She hadn't even been asleep, really, but had hovered for hours in that restless stasis between wakefulness and repose.  
  
Dear Hyne, how MANY hours?  
  
She sat up, swung her legs off the bed and bowed her head, rubbing her temples with stiff fingers until the throbbing went away. Then she rose, shuffled over to her dorm's window and jerked open the thick blinds.  
  
Ow. Ow. Ow.  
  
Okay, WAY too much time in the dark.  
  
She blinked furiously until her eyes were used to the bright light outside, swearing softly under her breath, before risking another peek outside. The Garden had stopped moving, that much was certain. The dull rumble of its engines, or whatever means of propulsion it possessed, had ceased a little while ago. It had been almost soothing, that faint, distant hum. Certainly, it had almost been enough to lull her into blessed, truly dreamless sleep, and perhaps its absence had been what had woken her.  
  
Below her, the seas rippled calmly, stirred by a lazy south wind, as she peered into the distance, just able to make out the coast of a nearby continent. She narrowed her eyes as she focussed on the large house nestled right on the beach. Centra. The Orphanage, she was sure. It was difficult to make out the details from that distance, but you didn't really need phenomenal deductive powers when there was a whopping great lighthouse stabbing up at the sky. Dead giveaway, really.  
  
The orphanage. Her childhood home. All of theirs, including---his.  
  
She slumped back down onto her bed, ruffling the half-kicked off covers even further, the effort of trying not to think about what happened threatening to overwhelm her once again. Again, (She'd lost track of how many times, exactly), she felt Quistis' pale, sickly body cradled in her arms, blood staining the fabric of her dress and the tears rolling freely down her face as she screamed in helpless anguish, viciously, mindlessly struggling against Irvine and Zell as they tried to pull her away.  
  
She struck her bedstead with a tight fist, the action dulling the memory, replacing it with brief pain. Then, after a few minutes of lying still, with her eyes screwed shut to keep the tears back, she rose unsteadily to her feet and lurched off to the shower.  
  
The hot, almost scalding water stimulated her senses, giving her still slightly shocked mind something else to focus on. As did the arduous process of drying and curling her shoulder length brown tresses up into her usual style, as well as dressing, tightening the straps on her knee-length boots and performing her routine check on her nunchuku. She occupied her mind with focussing on every last aspect of her every movement. Better to fill it with the usual, mundane things rather than any other memories it might randomly flash before her eyes.  
  
And her mind just froze completely whenever she considered, even remotely, the possibility of going down to the sickbay to see how Quistis was.  
  
She glanced again at her clock before pausing in front of her front door, taking a deep breath and whispering a prayer before opening it. A quick glance outside confirmed her hopes; Irvine had gone.  
  
She felt relieved and yet, at the same time, felt a pang of regret, and something else. Loneliness? Abandonment?  
  
How long had he sat out here anyway, cajoling, pleading? Trying his damnedest to get her to come out of her shell, desperately trying to convince her that it wasn't her fault? She didn't really know, and another random feeling struck her. Guilt? At what? At not answering him, just once, too wrapped up in her selfish little universe of sorrow? And if not that, then what? What was she feeling?  
  
*Whatever*, she thought, trying unsuccessfully to brush the thought away before shutting the door behind her and making her way slowly, but with increasing confidence, toward the training centre. An hour or two or three of slaughtering captured monsters ought to be enough to calm her, and give her something to focus on as she plucked up the courage and strength to go to the bloody sickbay and see just how her friend was doing. If anything, she owed her at least that.  
  
  
  
"Wait here," Squall ordered. At the open rear door of the SeeD hovercraft, Xu nodded wordlessly, and Squall strode the last few steps down the ramp onto the beach. His boots left deep impressions in the damp sand that were swallowed up as quickly as they were made as he made his way higher up onto the sands toward the figure awaiting him at the foot of the weather-beaten stone stairs leading down from the house.  
  
Long, dark tresses flowed down onto her shoulders, framing a youthful face only just now beginning to show the first signs of age. A long, plain grey and white dress, coming down to her ankles, only served to accentuate her feminine grace, even with a white woollen shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders against the winds that blew in from the North. But her face, with its dark eyes and slight smile, was unmistakeably that of a mother. Squall's mother, in a way. Certainly, she was the mother he and the others had never had, and she was most definitely realer to them than the women who had given them life.  
  
"Squall," she said simply, by way of greeting.  
  
"Matron. I," he began, but cut off as, suddenly, she stepped forward, wrapping both arms around him. For a moment, he stood frozen, uncertain how to respond to an action that once would have calmed him but which now came from the woman who was once his enemy. Then he relaxed, and returned her embrace, a son come home from a long journey.  
  
When they parted, she looked him over with a critical eye. "Hmm," she mused, an amused sparkle lighting her eyes, so sombre before. "Even Rinoa doesn't seem to have persuaded you to cut that mop."  
  
He ran a hand self consciously through said mop, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Nah. It's got a personality all on its own now. Cutting it would be like losing an old friend."  
  
The two shared a laugh, albeit a faint one. Even after six months, Edea Kramer and her former charges were still so uncertain of the nature of their relationship. They were all still feeling their way. But they still visited her. Not merely out of duty, either. Hell, more and more it seemed that Cid didn't have to cajole or shame them into going quite as much as he once did. A bit more time, and they would almost be comfortable with her again.  
  
They walked along the beach, toward the lighthouse. Occasionally, children's laughter would waft over them, prompting Squall to jerk his head around in surprise, eliciting a laugh from Edea each time.  
  
"What?" she queried with a raised eyebrow. "It gets lonely here, you know, even with Cid coming home every Friday. And you and Zell and the others aren't the only orphans in the world."  
  
"Yeah, but---" he flailed helplessly for the right words as she looked at him expectantly. "I guess.I just didn't expect it, is all."  
  
She smiled again and shook her head, sighing. Then she grew solemn, stopped and turned and faced him. Taking a deep breath, she asked. "How is Quisty?" At his look of surprise, she added, humourlessly, "Cid called me when it happened. No sorceresses or scrying, just good old-fashioned communication."  
  
He ran a hand through his hair again in his characteristic, nervous tic. "She'll recover. At least, that's what Doctor Kadowaki says." He frowned. "She's almost all healed. But the shock of it all was---she just needs to wake up, now. Come back to us. Just a matter of time, really."  
  
"You sound like you don't believe that."  
  
"I do," he countered, firmly. "Its Quistis. She'll pull through. She always has."  
  
Edea nodded, then looked away, out to sea towards the floating garden, the one she'd once been hell-bent on annihilating. Squall waited for a moment, allowing it to sink in, before continuing. "If you know what happened, then you also know." He broke off, waiting for her to continue.  
  
She bowed her head silently, and then nodded. "Seifer."  
  
He placed a hand on her shoulder, his own gentleness surprising him. "Matron---I have to know. Can you still---"  
  
"---sense him?" she finished for him, bitterly. "Control him?" She turned back toward him, and the intensity in her eyes compelled him to take a step back. "No. No, Squall, I can't. I lost that ability when my powers passed on to Rinoa. And that is the truth."  
  
He shook his head. "Matron, I---" he fumbled for the right words, uncertain of what to say. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I just---you can't even sense him?"  
  
She shook her head no, wordlessly, tightly, still peering straight at him with burning eyes. Had he looked closer, perhaps he might have seen how close they were to welling up with tears. "I don't know why he did what he did. Why he hurt Quistis. Cid told me you suspected that someone was controlling him. Well, it wasn't me. But maybe---maybe the power that's making him act that way is---Oh, I can't describe it in words you'd understand!" She shook her head made a short, ironic, bitter noise at the back of her throat. "Like---a leftover, a remnant of a spell that wasn't dissipated when Ultimecia was defeated, causing him to---do things. Things he wouldn't ordinarily do."  
  
Squall was silent for a moment, as the momentary anger in her eyes faded away and she turned to face the sea once more. Things he wouldn't ordinarily do? Bullshit. There was no way that he could believe that a person could be taken over so completely by another, especially not once so strong-willed as Seifer. He was responsible for the death or injury of hundreds of people, had simply and cold-heartedly thrown Rinoa to the nonexistent mercies of the revived Adel and now he'd almost fatally wounded one of Squall's---one of his OWN---childhood friends, all the while seeming to be in perfect control of himself and his abilities.  
  
Someone like Seifer couldn't do that sort of thing on the whim of another, even if he weren't in complete control of himself. As Squall remembered, when he did something it was ALWAYS with utmost and extreme confidence. Squall wouldn't believe it.  
  
He could not. If the control spell was so successful, it must have been because, on some level not too deeply buried, Seifer must have wanted it---  
  
Aloud, he said: "All right. So if it isn't an outside force, but some kind of---remnant of the original sorceress' control.how can it be dispelled?"  
  
Edea paused in thought, now on familiar ground. She had crafted countless spells over the years, and still retained the knowledge now, even though she had no means of ever casting them again. "Not by your average spell, like Dispel or something similar. It can be done, and I know how, but it would take another sorceress to do it."  
  
Squall's face tightened. "Like Rinoa."  
  
Edea tensed, sensing the edge to his voice. "Yes," she conceded, guardedly, not pleased with the direction that the conversion had taken. "She could do it, yes."  
  
"Would you be willing to teach her?"  
  
Silence fell between them, with Squall waiting expectantly for an answer and Edea staring at him, uncertain of what to think.  
  
Finally, she said, gently, " Squall.For a spell to have persisted this long, it must be extremely powerful.the kind of energy you'd need to dissipate it might be enough of a shock to kill him! Are you sure you could- --"  
  
"Answer, yes or no, Matron," Squall said abruptly, cutting off any protest. "He's not going to stay hidden for long, I don't think. Sooner or later, he'll resurface, and I want to be able to deal with him, once and for all, whatever it takes!" Edea watched as a hand crept unconsciously to the handle of the Gunblade slung from his belt. "With the spell you could teach Rinoa, he MAY survive. But I promise you, if he reappears and tries something, there's no way in hell that he'll survive MY method of dealing with him! Now will you teach Rinoa?"  
  
Edea stared at him in stunned shock, unable to believe that her ears had just heard the request he'd made.  
  
"Squall," she whispered. "I told you.dispelling the control could kill him."  
  
"And I just told you," he growled. "That I most definitely WILL kill him, because if you won't help, then there'll be no other way. He's not gonna just surrender."  
  
Again, that thunderous silence.  
  
Finally, Edea sighed and whispered, defeated; "Fine. I'll teach Rinoa."  
  
He nodded, satisfied. The hand left his Gunblade. The gesture hadn't been meant to frighten her---he probably hadn't really been aware of it---but nevertheless, she wrapped her shawl all the more tightly around her shoulders at the sudden chill of his demeanour. "I'll send her around later today."  
  
He bowed respectfully to her and turned on his heels. He made as if to go, then paused long enough to look over his shoulder and say, stiffly, albeit sincerely; "Thank you, Matron."  
  
And as she watched his retreating back, she noted, with some irony and no amusement whatsoever, that she'd seen that stubborn resolution, that single- minded focus in another of her children. And the road that she'd made that one travel had lead only to ruin for them both.  
  
She had little time for such thoughts, though. As always, the children called her back, with another scraped knee, or petty insult-match or simple cry for attention. But her mind remained troubled long after the SeeD hovercraft had embarked from the beach and sped back to the offshore Balamb Garden.  
  
  
  
EVENING  
  
"Remind me again," growled SeeD cadet Jon Mannheim as he laboriously applied another coat of wax to the side of SeeD hovercraft III, with a grimy, ragged cloth which appeared to have been passed down along the generations. "Just why we're down here at bloody eleven at night waxing up every SeeD vehicle three times over?"  
  
His companion, Jhana Kang, peeked her head around the nose of the craft and scowled at him, idly toying with the idea fetching one of the hoses with which the bay was equipped and spraying him with it until he'd run out of curses. "That, my dear Manny," she said sweetly instead, albeit with significant and quite detectable malice. "May have something to do with the way you turned Instructor Aki's classroom into a meat locker with one of your Blizzard spells. Which you WEREN'T authorised to cast even in training just yet, never mind in class."  
  
He swore under his breath, paused in his labours and shot back: "Well, that's the reason they gave, but c'mon! First offence, and no one was hurt by it anyway, so what the fuck?!? They made us clean it up, and I promised I'd never do it again anyway."  
  
"True. After swearing you had nothing to do with it, after which they threw both you AND me down here."  
  
"Hey, hey, whoa! I may have been the reason that Instructor Aki had a mild case of frost-bite, but whose bright idea was it to try using Fire to thaw him out?"  
  
Despite the bleak punishment of being made to wash and wax the five SeeD hovercraft stowed in the hangar, Jon grinned at the sound of the angry mutterings coming from the opposite side of the vehicle. The two hapless Cadets were in one of the vast storage spaces in Balamb Garden's lower levels. There were two such chambers, discovered six months previously when dire circumstances involving everything from a Faculty revolt to a missile attack had eventually culminating in Balamb first taking to the skies. One of them housed five SeeD Hovercrafts, specially outfitted to be launched from Garden without the installation having to be touched down, and capable of being housed back in their hangar via a system of cranes and pulleys. The other chamber, above this one, only barely managed to accommodate the huge Estharian Ragnarok aircraft.  
  
"Well, whatever," he said, with a victorious chuckle, raising himself up from his haunches with a grunt and straightening up, wincing at the sound his spine made as it stretched out. "I'm done my side. Two more to go, and we're outta here. Thank Hyne tomorrow's Saturday, that's all I can say." A noise from within the craft caused him to jerk his head around with a curse. "Damn. Thought I'd secured all the overhead storage compartments already."  
  
He stalked to the ramp leading into the passenger area of the craft and trotted up it, still grumbling about how reactionary the disciplinary board was getting these days. Jhana buffed the last patch of hull and squinted into it, contorting her face into humorous expressions and giggling at her even more distorted mirror image. At least she'd done a good job at it---  
  
From within, there was a yelp and a thud, like flesh striking metal from a height. She shook her head. "Clumsy jackass," she sighed, getting up and making her way to the back of the craft.  
  
"Manny, jeez," she laughed as she rounded the hull and came to the open ramp. "It's not like its even dark enough in there for you not to see the hatch before you run into---" And then her characteristic Dolletian wit died on her lips. Within the dim passenger area, her companion and partner in crime lay face down on the deck, and in the space behind him, something-- -someone---just seemed to materialise from nothing.  
  
She backed away, awkwardly down the ramp as a bloodied spectre strode cockily down the ramp on to the floor of the bay after her. A shiny, obviously well maintained gunblade was clasped in one hand, finger on the trigger, in alert readiness. The long, grey trench coat worn by the newcomer was sliced in some places, and stained with dried blood, days old. And his face was twisted in a cruel smirk, almost a leer, as he edged his way toward her. And as he did, the short, angry scar that split his face between the eyes marked him out for all the world to see.  
  
Her backward advance was halted as she backed into the hull of another craft. Trapped. She pressed herself up against it in terror as the figure advanced to within two feet of her, twisting its head from side to side, working out the kinks of two days spent curled in the substructure of the hovercraft, in the area beneath the seats, between the hull and the part of the craft actually meant for human habitation. She could only stare in mute paralysis as he reached out one, gloved hand out to stroke her cheek.  
  
"Please," he whispered, through tight lips as sweat beaded on his forehead. The voice was far away, ethereal. Pained? "Don't struggle. It'll be much, much worse if you do."  
  
Then the tautness of his face faded away, relaxed, and the newly serene visage resumed its smirk. With one hand, it swung its gunblade out and brought it down on her with a flash.  
  
Her scream was short, sharp and lost in the bowels of the thunderous Garden, with none to hear it.  
  
A/N: Many thanks to all of my reviewers! Nice to know that there's someone out there reading this. Thanks for all the encouragement. Squall, I know what you mean. I'm almost tempted to slap "Queifer" on it. That usually draws the crowds, I must say.  
  
Cheers. Expect regular updates until Christmas, then afterward into the New Year. I'll finish this thing regardless of the cost to my sanity. 


	5. Thief in the Night

DISCLAIMER: Final Fantasy Eight and all associated characters are property of Squaresoft. I own none of them and in any case legal action would serve no purpose: I am an university student and, therefore, a poor man.  
  
A/N: Sorry 'bout the long delay between chapters. Various things to deal with, including a LOVELY trip to Ottawa and Montreal for reading week. Shorter chapter this time 'round, and I promise, the NEXT one will be more action packed. I've decided to shorten future chapters as best as I can.I realise that long chapters can be daunting.  
  
Cheers  
  
***  
  
CHAPTER FIVE  
  
Eleven p.m.  
  
Rinoa stared up at the ceiling, as she had done for the last half-hour. She sighed, shifted in bed in yet another vain attempt to get comfortable and forced her eyes shut, almost desperate for sleep's arms to enfold her. But, as had been the case for the last half-hour, said sleep eluded her. She was tired enough to sleep, certainly, especially after an entire day of crafting new spells, but her mind was too active, both from the effort of casting them and from all the while considering the implications of the powerful new energies coursing through her body.  
  
Her eyes fluttered open again of her own accord, and she frowned in the darkness as she gathered the covers more tightly around herself. It had taken hours for Matron to teach her exactly how to prepare and cast the new spell, designed to dispel whatever force it was that was controlling Seifer's actions and although the gruelling casting session was ended, still she felt agitated. Not at Edea. No, no---she had been nothing if not supportive and understanding, not to mention patient. Perhaps she remembered those days when she herself was still feeling her way through her powers.  
  
But Squall---  
  
She'd told him, right then and there on the beach at the orphanage, when he'd come to check up on Matron and herself, just how powerful the spell was. How it would most likely kill Seifer if it were ever used against him. But Squall had just nodded grimly and turned away, walking back to the hovercraft in silence.  
  
It was that coldness, that callous disregard for the life of a man who may still be redeemable, which had shaken her, and only a few more hours of throwing herself into her magical projects with Edea had been sufficient to keep her from dwelling upon it to an unhealthy degree. What was he becoming? Was he reverting back to his original, reclusive self, cutting himself off from emotion and returning to the bleak life he lead before they found each other?  
  
The hiss of her dormitory door as it slid open startled her even further into wakefulness. She was certain she'd locked it behind her when she turned in for the night, and she had the only key. Well, her and---  
  
"Squall?" she whispered, softly, and strained her ears for an answer. She received none.  
  
At once annoyed and titillated by his intrusion, she slipped out of bed and padded, barefoot, out of her bedroom and into the small living area of her quarters. By rights, she should have had to bunk with a roommate, as she was still technically only a SeeD cadet, but having the Garden commander for a boyfriend came with certain perks attached.  
  
She paused at the threshold, leaning against the doorframe with her arms drawn across her breasts and squinted into the darkness. Nothing, although she hadn't imagined the sound.her front door was still slightly open, leading out into a darkened corridor.  
  
"Squall," she called out again, carefully measuring the warning in her voice. She loved him dearly, but if he thought she was in the mood for games after a day as long as hers had been and with him acting as he'd been for the past few days, then he was sorely mistaken. "This isn't funny. Stop acting so creepy and just---"  
  
But her sentence remained unfinished, as strong, swift arms deftly snaked out from the darkness to her right and caught her in their tight, businesslike grip. Reflexively, she opened her mouth to utter some word of power, but her spell was stillborn, and she felt her power flee as a gloved, inexorable hand snapped a collar of some sort around her neck before she could even complete the thought behind the attempt. She knew instantly: Odine choker. She tried the same tactic on Edea six months previously. Yet another of Hyne's little jokes.  
  
"No," a grim voice, dripping menace, whispered by her ear. Her eyes widened in shock at the touch of the cool, cruel edge of the intruder's gunblade to her throat. "I'm afraid not. Sorry."  
  
~*~*~  
  
The T-Rexaur noticed nothing. Not until it was too late.  
  
Its headlong rush slowed to a trot, then to a crawl, every step a titanic effort, as the cold seized first its muscles, then spread outward until its mottled, leathery skin glistened as the air moisture frozen upon contact with it. It managed one last step forward, accompanied by a deafening roar of final defiance before it could move no longer, every water molecule in its body freezing from within, inescapably. Its bloodshot, reptilian eyes still glared, though, frozen in their sockets as they were. Even now, at the hour of its death, its tiny brain still thought of nothing beyond death and killing.  
  
Selphie gazed up at its grotesque, open jaws impassively for a moment before drawing back her nunchuku and swinging it forward with a grunt. Its edge landed a smart blow on its lower torso, with such GF enhanced force behind it that the violent disintegration of the congealed creature lasted just a few seconds, with numerous chunks of ice skittering along the ground or flying into the air.  
  
She let out a breath and idly tapped the organic debris with the toe of her boot. That had been her third encounter with a T-Rexaur since that morning, and also the one that had lasted the shortest, from moment of contact to death by Blizzaga. But then, she'd seen this one coming. She hadn't been quite so quick with the others.  
  
The landscape swayed around her suddenly, prompting her to squeeze her eyes shut and press her thumbs to her temples until it ceased to do so. At once, the realisation hit her that she'd been at it for just about twelve hours, without a break, but once she'd recovered her composure, she didn't dwell on that fact. Her body ached, but her mind was clear, or at least focussed. But still.she'd been supremely lucky in this last encounter. Even in her present state of mind, she knew full well that without a break and a meal of some sort, her performance really would begin to lag behind her usual standard and, with it, her luck.  
  
Although, she supposed, after the events of the last few days, an unfavourable encounter would be par for the course and, on some deep, chilling level, welcome.  
  
She shook her head furiously, dispelling the thought and replacing it with anger at herself for even entertaining such a notion. With one last glance at her handiwork, already beginning to melt in the tropical, controlled climate within the Training Area, she turned on her heels and made her way to the exit. This late at night, the cafeteria was, of course, closed, but she certainly still had strength sufficient to press a button or two, those on the microwave she kept in her quarters. After a snack and a shower, who knew? Maybe she could pluck up the nerve to---  
  
to---  
  
She stopped for a moment, then set her jaw and strode off once again to the exit.  
  
Say it, Selph, she thought. To check up on Quistis. To see how your best friend is doing and maybe---just maybe---tell her you're sorry you screwed up---and SHE had to pay for it.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Garden's central atrium, around which was clustered every major facility from sickbay to cafeteria, was very noticeably devoid of its usual cheerfulness, dim as its lights were at this hour of the night. Most of the students were in bed, long ahead of the ten-thirty curfew imposed by Garden since its foundation, a reminder that it was, despite the trappings of a military base, still a school. And what little staff were still up were to be found either in sickbay or on the bridge. And through this deserted academy, quite unaware that it had been invaded, Seifer and his captive moved like ghosts, furtively from shadow to shadow.  
  
During the day, the walk to the elevator would be a task of minutes. But Seifer, so desperately anxious that his dark business not be discovered and the entire Garden alerted to his presence, spent the journey from the dorms ducking furtively from shadow to shadow, not taking a step unless he was certain there was no watcher to mark his progress, or else the occasional security camera had swung its gaze away from his planned trajectory. Rinoa would have found this infuriating had she not been dragged along with him with her powers gone and a gunblade at her throat throughout.  
  
"Seifer, why are you-" she hissed at her captor for the fourth time since being 'escorted' from her quarters in her PJs in the middle of the night, but only received a tightening of the grip around her waist and a blade being pressed even closer to her throat.  
  
Within her, she raged at her fear for her own life, and at the strange, frightening air about her former friend and at the Odine choker around her neck. The only place he could be taking her was the hangar below and once they'd stepped into the elevator she'd be completely beyond aid. She would have yelled out for help, or attempted to run, as futile as that would have been, anything to get the attention of anyone who could alert Squall and the others.  
  
But she'd taken a look into Seifer's face when he'd bundled her out of her quarters. And what she had seen there was enough to convince her that Seifer would make any and all of his threats good. Up until now, she had been fighting terror with every step.  
  
And it was right about then that the gods saw fit to have Selphie round the corner, on the other side of the elevator, and stop dead in her tracks a few feet away from them.  
  
***  
  
NEXT: Discovered, Seifer attempts to escape with Rinoa, but Selphie's in his way--- 


End file.
